Lean Not Unto Your Own Understanding
by trekker1423
Summary: Jane leaves after Episode 2x15, and joins the military. After being ambushed on patrol, she suffers amnesia, and is forced to retire from the military. Meeting up with Maura, she does not remember her. Is M for language. Rizzles. AU, especially since Season 3 has aired.
1. Prologue: We Are Save by Grace not by Si

Jane leaves after Episode 2x15 and joins the military. Suffering Amnesia, after being ambushed on patrol, she is forced to retire from the military. Meeting up with Maura, she does not remember her.

I have created a timeline for this story. Everything happens as it does in the in the show, with some notable differences:

-Jane enlists in the Army for four years to pay for college.  
-Jane fights in the Bosnian/Herzegovina conflict in the mid '90s.  
-Jane goes to community college, and becomes a police officer soon afterwards.  
-Jane graduates from Boston College with a degree in Criminal Justice.  
-Jane meets Maura in her fourth year on the force, the beginning of her Second Year in Vice.

If you are interested in the more detailed timeline, I will put it up.

With this timeline, this means that Jane was born in 1972 or 73.

Comments are appreciated.

The title comes from Proverbs. All the titles of the chapters come from different verses of the Bible. I'm not particularly religious, but for some reason it works. This is rated K+, but should probably be rated M for Language.

If you notice, I change tense in the story. This is done on purpose to help the reader delineate between past and present. I am not a writer.

R/I is the property of TNT. I'm just playing around with it a little.

* * *

Prologue

We are Saved by Grace, not by Site

_Mid 2010 Somewhere in Afghanistan 1625 Local Time_

Jane Rizzoli crouches in the dust waiting. Shaking her head, she sighs, and readjusts her M-16 and her helmet. Today she waits, much as she waits every day. She understands the meaning of patience. It has been imbued in her first as an enlisted soldier, then as a cop, later as a detective, and now as an officer. Today, she waits for her small company to get their asses back to the four Humvees. Yesterday, it was waiting around for the day to end. Glancing downward, she grabs a clump of dirt, and methodically starts to separate the dead pieces of grass from the dirt, and the rocks from the grass. Sighing again, she drops the rest of the dirt from her gloved hands, creating a small cloud of dust. Dusting her hands off, she stands and stretches as much as she can, hampered by her weapon and her bulletproof vest. Pulling off one glove, she reaches her left hand over to the pocket on her right arm. Grabbing out out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, she proceeds to light up. She grimaces at the first drag. God, they're terrible. Jane thinks that Afghani tobacco is the worst thing ever, even if they are only a quarter a pack. Expelling another puff of smoke, Jane leans carefully against the Humvee, her relaxed position masking her heightened alertness to her surroundings.

"Captain!"

Jane looks up slowly, her body tensing, her hand on the trigger of her trusty M-9, an automatic motion after years on the beat at the Boston Police Department. Perhaps she isn't paying enough attention.

"Whoa, Captain Riz. No need to get antsy. It's just me Sergeant Fez." The sergeant holds up his hands in supposition. He points at her left hand. "Hey, can I get one of those?"

Jane nods, and pulls the pack back out of her pocket. "Here you go Sarge." She waves the pack lightly at him, and gently tosses it in his direction. He catches it without too much trouble, and pulls out a cigarette. He throws the pack back in her general direction, missing her open hand by a good two feet. Jane stares at it for a second, and shakes her head. "Dammit, Fez, don't ever join the MLB. Your aim is really shitty."

"Sorry Ma'am." Jane watches as Fez proceeds to pull a silver zippo from his right pocket. He takes a long drag, and makes the same face that Jane had made previously lighting up. "God these, are so unbelievably fucking . . . fucking awful."

"Language, Fez," Jane smirks, and then frowns. _Maura_, she thinks. "Only allowed to use two curse works at opposite ends of the sentence, you cigarette bumming ass." She laughs, her vocalization echoing in the silence.

Fez chuckles, "Sorry Ma'am."

Jane rolls her eyes, "And stop calling Ma'am. Ma'am is for old ladies past the age of 55 who walk their small white dogs in the park—" She cuts off her sentence, thinking of Jo Friday. She suddenly wonders how her friendly little white dog is doing with Tommy. She hears shuffling boots in the distance, accompanied by the sound of clinking gear. Squinting her eyes against the sun, she looks west. Her soldiers are walking at a rapid pace back to the Humvees. They look tired. She takes one final drag of the cigarette, drops it to the dirt, and grinds it under the heel of her boot.

Reaching Jane, Staff Sergeant Johnson salutes crisply. "Captain." Jane returns the salute, and Sergeant Johnson drops his hand. "Ma'am, we walked around the village for awhile. The checkpoint appears to be secure. We're ready to go, I believe."

Jane pulls out a small notebook from her pocket and a pen. Writing something down, she frowns slightly, and looks up. Her gut tells her something is wrong. She looks around quietly, the wind whistling softly in the canyon. Everything seems quiet, too quiet, like the calm before a storm. Her men are standing at her staring, waiting. Jane considers this. She nods. Nothing they can do about it. Her men are sitting ducks out in the middle of Nowhere, Afghanistan. They have to go back to the base. "Let's go." Her voice is gruff. Tapping Sargent Fez on the right shoulder, she signals him to get in the Humvee and start driving. She opens the passenger door, gets in, and slams it shut. They are off.

Fez looks curiously over at her, and looks back to the dirt road. He glances over at her again. Jane growls. "Fez. What is it?"

Fez smiles. "Captain," he says in his slight Puerto Rican accent, " why did you come on patrol today? Officers don't make a habit of it. You're all paper pushers."

"Fez," Jane sighs again, "_Other _officers might not make a habit of it, but you're my men. I'm here too. Besides, I'm prior enlisted."

Fez looks startled, and laughs. "Figures that you would be." They sit there in silence for a few minutes, now more than halfway back to the base. Suddenly Fez frowns. The Humvee in front of him slams on their brakes. It's not soon enough, as a loud explosion is heard. _Shit_, Jane thinks, _I might fucking die._ She shrugs internally. _Oh well, what a way to go_, as she blacks out for a moment.

"Captain." Fez tries again. "Captain!"

Jane wakes up with a start. "Huh?" The Humvee has rolled over on its side. She slowly moves her fingers and toes. Everything appears to be working properly. She can't move her head though. She realizes the strap of her helmet is caught somehow. Grabbing a knife from her leg pocket, she cuts the strap, and slides carefully out the door, grabbing Fez along with her. She surveys the damage around her. _Shit_, she thinks, _this is so fucked up._ She and Fez appear to be the only ones who have managed to get out of their vehicle. Two of them are on fire, and someone is screaming. Jane takes off toward the first one. Opening the door handle, she grimaces at the heat of the metal. _That's gonna scar_, she thinks. She grabs, and pulls him out. Fez is on the other side helping her. Working in sync, they go to the rear of the vehicle, and pull out the other guys. Jane and Fez drag the unconscious soldiers away from the wreck behind a slight hillock.

Jane hears a burst of fire from an errant AK-47. Ugh, she rolls her eyes, more of this. Pulling around her trusty M-16, she fires off a few rounds at the insurgents capering closer to the burning Humvees. She's gotta get the rest of her men out. She jogs closer, firing a few more rounds. She hits one in the stomach, and another in the shoulder. She pushes her thumb over to the side of the weapon, and switches to burst. She fires again, and the insurgents stop firing for a second. She grabs for the handle on the other Humvee door, and manages to pull out the soldier. _He's dead_, she thinks sadly. She looks over to the other seat. The man's chest rises. She pulls him out, and drags him over to the others. Fez is crouched over tending to them with his emergency first aid kit. He looks a little panicked. He looks wildly over at her. "Don't go back," he grabs her arm.

Jane wrests it away. "Fez, there's still two men over there alive. I gotta."

"Shit," is all Fez says.

Jane jogs back to the final Humvee, and tries to pull out another man. His leg is stuck. She can smell the oil burning. It's a fucking time bomb waiting to go off. She is slowly starting to panic. She can't get him out despite all her best efforts. A-ha! She knifes the laces off his shoe, and pulls the foot out of the boot. _Still intact_, she thinks. She manages to get him out, and partially over to Fez, who drags him to where the rest of the men are. Straightening her shoulders, she goes back for the final man. She makes it over to the Humvee. As she's about to grab him, it blows. _Shit_, she's on fucking fire. She's in so much pain, she doesn't notice the piece of metal debris coming at her face until it's too late. _Shit_, she thinks. She hears Maura admonishing her in her mind _"Language, Jane." _Jane laughs to herself and blacks out.


	2. Chapter 1: Therefore Will I Hope

Chapter 1 Therefore Will I Hope

_April 15, 2011 Boston Police Department 1500 EST_

Jane Rizzoli picked at her ACUs. She was tired after driving the seven hours from Fort Drum where she had out-processed. Picking up her hat, she eyed the two black bars connected by the two thin lines. She still wasn't used to seeing that insignia on her hat. When had she decided to become an officer anyway? She didn't know. She frowned, trying to grasp at a memory that wouldn't seem to come back. She could feel it on the edge of her consciousness, but it wouldn't quite come.

Instead she remembered.

_August 16, 2010 Walter Reed Medical Center Washington D.C._

She feels pain radiating from her chest. In fact, it feels as if her whole body is one dull, throbbing pain. She tries to move, and she notices that her arms seem to be tied. She begins to thrash. Someone is holding her down, and has tied her up. Maybe. She needs to get back to her unit. Top (her First Sergeant) is gonna fucking kill her. She panics, and a machine begins to squeal in the background that she doesn't quite register. She doesn't want to get in trouble for being AWOL; dammit all she had was two beers at a bar. In Bosnia. With the guys. And some hookers. What day is it? Did someone spike her drink? Either way, she's fucked. Why can't she open her eyes? She needs to open her eyes. _Do it now_, she commands her eyelids. Blearily, she looks around. She takes a deep breath, as a woman in purple scrubs with honey blonde curly hair runs into the room, her hands grasping a black Littmann stethoscope around her neck. Jane notes her round face, almost Slavic in appearance. She reminds her of someone, but whom? Jane scrunches her eyebrows together, trying to remember. _What the fuck?_

"You're awake," she says.

Jane frowns. What the hell is she doing at a hospital? She must have had more to drink than usual. She opens her mouth to speak and notices she can't. Her throat is parched. The nurse, well—what she assumes is a nurse, inclines her head over in understanding. Reaching over to the side of the bed, she grabs a cup of ice chips. "Bet you're thirsty." The unnamed nurse dangles a piece of ice near Jane's lips. Jane opens her mouth slowly, the piece of ice dropping into her mouth, dripping slowly down her dry throat. Jane's mouth feels better.

"What's going on?" she asks the nurse.

The nurse sets down the cup of ice on the tableside. "I'm Major Bradley, and I'm a nurse at Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington D.C. where you're at, Captain Rizzoli. You were in an accident, and you are currently here while you're recovering. Your parents have been notified that you have woken up."

Jane slowly speaks, confused. "I'm not a Captain. I'm a PFC. Who is Captain Rizzoli? What am I doing at a fucking medical center in _Washington DC_?" Her voice gradually rises in indignation. She notices that her entire upper body is covered in bandages and she's having a hard time moving her hands.

The nurse pauses, not knowing what to say. "Give me a moment here," as she slowly begins to back out of the room.

Major Bradley returns a few minutes later with a doctor. "Jane," she says, "This is Doctor Jansen. He will answer your questions, anything that you may have."

Jane eyes him up and down slowly. He's wearing a tan Navy uniform, and his lab coat is crisply pressed. She can tell he's a headshrinker from a mile away. _Fuck_, she thinks, _this is just great._ She slowly considers a plan to figure out how to get out of her predicament. She must have fucked up without even realizing it. She suddenly realized she's zoned out. The headshrinker is giving her a _look_, as if he can see into the depths of her soul. She realizes that she is out of her element.

Dr. Jansen clears his throat, bringing Jane away from her musings. "Jane," he smiles insincerely, "how are you doing?"

Jane frowns. _What the hell?_ "I'm doing fine," she snaps sarcastically as she slowly lifts her bandaged arms. "I feel like a mummy, but other than that, just peachy."

Jansen lets out a small chuckle. "Well, at least your sense of humor hasn't been affected." He looks down at her with real compassion this time. "What's the last thing that you remember?"

Jane pauses, considering carefully. "Something must have happened to me. I'm sitting in a hospital in the States . . ."

The doctor tries again, "Jane, what's the last thing that you remember?"

She looks at him, her heart is beginning to beat faster. _Why is he asking me this?_ She says, "I was at a bar with some of my friends from my unit in some crappy town in Serbia. Did I drink too much or something?"

The doctor frowns slightly; Jane can see his eyes crinkle just a touch. "Jane, what year is it?"

"1994," she says promptly. Jane can tell that it's not the answer the doctor wants.

"Jane," he speaks slowly, annunciating as if for a child, "unfortunately I have some um news for you. It's not 1994. It's 2010. You're not waking up from a bad hangover. You are a Captain with the United States Army. You were on deployment in Afghanistan, when a suicide bomber and insurgents ambushed you, along with your unit outside of Kabul. You saved many of their lives, but in the process you were badly wounded."

Jane nods slowly. _All right, _she thinks,_ this is a lot to take in._ "So," she says in slight disbelief, "I'm an _officer_ in the United States Army. I was deployed to Afghanistan, and got into a fight with some bad people. Well, that's news."

Dr. Jansen nods, glad that she's seemingly taking it well. "Yes."

Jane grimaces, "Are you for fucking real _Doctor_?" She is distracted by a loud noise in the hallway.

"Janie!" Jane Rizzoli can hear her mother screeching down from the hallway. She rolls her eyes again. Apparently some things haven't changed in 16 years. Angela Rizzoli tumbles in, a force of nature, with older versions of Tommy and Frankie following closely behind. "Baby," she huffs in her loud working-class Boston accent, "you always pick the most dangerous jobs. I want you to become a pianist. Instead you join the army. I ask you to find something less dangerous, so you become a cop. Then, you go _back _into the military." Jane begins to zone her mother out, something born of years of self-protection. Some things never change.

Doctor Jansen stops her rant. "Mrs. Rizzoli, if I may have a word with you: it's about your daughter's condition."

Jane looks at her Ma, and smiles slightly trying to calm her. Angela looks and smiles back. "All right, Doctor." They step outside.

Jane looks over at her two brothers. Slowly she is starting to understand that the Navy headshrinker is not shitting her. She stares in fascination at the wrinkles on Frankie's face, the beginning of grey at his temples. She sees Tommy has a tan, and is devastatingly handsome. _Bet he gets all the girls_, she thinks. "Frankie. Tommy. You guys look great, just um older. Tell me how it's going with you two."

Frankie frowns, not quite understanding her meaning. "Janie, you saw us less than six months ago when you were on leave. Your memory can't be that . . ." he trails off. Comprehension dawns on his face. Jane stares at him. She and Frankie have always been close, and Frankie has always been pretty quick to catch on to things. She wonders if Frankie has finally made detective. _Wait,_ she furrows her brow_, where the hell did that come from?_

"Janie," Frankie says, "You ok?" He stares intensely at her.

His musing is cut off with Angela's overdramatic timing out in the hallway. "My poor baby," you can hear her muffled shout outside very clearly within hearing distance of the whole hospital.

Angela rushes back in. "Baby," she hovers over Jane like a Blackhawk helicopter, shooting questions instead of bullets, "do you know who I am?" She places her hand over her chest. "I'm Angela," she shouts, "I'm your mother."

Jane rolls her eyes again. "Ma," she gruffly replies, "I know who you are." She painfully lifts up a gauze paw, and motions in the general direction of Tommy and Frankie. "I know who they are. I can hear you, I'm experiencing retrograde amnesia, not deafness." _Retrograde Amnesia_, she thinks, _how the fuck do I know that?_

Angela comes closer to her bed, and gently leans down to kiss her forehead. "Baby," she says, " I'm glad that you're alive. But honey, you need to get a different job."

Jane chuckles at this. Her Ma is a force of nature, a pain in the ass, but she knows that she will be all right.


	3. Chapter 2: We are not Consumed

A few things I'd like to address with the readers:

-Thank you for adding me to all your story alerts and story favorites! What an honor.

-Thank for all the reviews. I really appreciate the feedback. I wasn't expecting _any _feedback, but here it is!

-BTW, according to the timeline I have worked out, Episode 2x15 would have taken place in 2005/06 ish.

I started to write this story because I wanted to take elements from other stories I liked, and create a bit of an AU while still maintaining the idea of the core of who Jane is. I've taken a bit more of Jane's personality from Tess Gerritsen's books. She's a little more disciplined, a little less apt to having fun. Angie Harmon's version of Jane is a little more free-wheeling, a little more sarcastic, and quite a bit undisciplined. So, _Swishla_, you're right, I don't really see Jane (from the show) in the military either. Being prior military myself, I don't think she'd last one day in BMT with that mouth of hers. She'd be doing push-ups constantly. :) I'm just that person who thinks that Jane would probably look _really_ good in a uniform.

_LOCASVU_, I have the story planned out, and all I have to do is write it. I know exactly how Maura is going to act. I believe it fits with her personality, and her Type-A control issues. Maura is an interesting lady, but very difficult to write. This will most likely be why I will choose to write Maura only from Jane's POV. Jane will be just as perplexed and intrigued as we are.

BTW, the endgame is most likely gonna be Rizzles. This is rated M for language, probably not for sex scenes.

I have a job that requires a lot of my time, and I will try to update as often as possible. But that may not always be the case. Still, in the meantime here is another chapter for your enjoyment.

TNT and Tess Gerritsen own R/I. I'm just playing with their characters for a bit.

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Chapter 2 We are not Consumed

_April 15, 2011 Boston Police Department 1535 EDT_

Jane was worried about going into the police station. According to her mother, she had once been a great police officer. She was a detective, hailed by all as a wonder to the Boston Police Force. She apparently had one of the best track records for closing cases on the force. Not that Jane actually knew any of these things. She was here, because Ma made her go. She wasn't sure if she could do a job that she didn't remember doing in the first place. But she was driving her mother crazy with all of her moping. As a result of her amnesia and other remaining injuries, she was being forced to resign her commission, pending review. She didn't know if she could continue being in the military anyway. Gripping the steering wheel of her car, she let her eyes drift over the light burn scars on her hands. She frowned, noticing the pair of scars that went through to the other side to her palms. She had been told that a Serial Killer, Charles Hoyt had stabbed her with a scalpel and given her these scars. Jane struggled to remember just what she felt like when this happened. She noticed that sometimes her hands would ache if it were cold or about to rain. Once again, the memory seemed distant, out of her grasp. A small tendril of emotion touched at the edge of her mind, but she still couldn't feel it completely. That bothered her.

Grabbing her black beret, she placed it carefully on her head and walked inside the police station. Making it to the short distance of the door, she removed her cover and marched with a confidence she did not feel. Walking up to reception, she flashed her I.D. "Captain Jane Rizzoli. I'm here for an appointment with a Captain Cavanaugh."

The police officer at reception gave her a once over. "Yes ma'am. Give me one second." He picked up a phone, and dialed a number. Speaking briefly with whomever was on the line, he hung up, and directed her over to some chairs. "Please have a seat. The Captain will be right down."

Jane looked around, lost in thought. Her mother wanted her out of her sad little apartment. She was on leave from the military, sitting around doing nothing of consequence, so her mother had set her up with her old job. Calling Detective, now Lieutenant, Korsak had been important. She didn't remember Korsak, although he had stopped by to see her. Apparently her mother and Korsak were somewhat of an item. Either way, here she was now. She looked up. A white man with greying hair was walking up to her, eyes determined. She knew immediately that it was Captain Cavanaugh. Jane stood up, almost saluted, and stopped herself.

Cavanaugh held out his hand, "Hello Captain Rizzoli." He stared at her with those intense dark eyes of his. "It's been a long time. I'm Sean Ca—"

Jane grabbed his hand, interrupting him. "Sean Cavanaugh. I know."

Captain Cavanaugh stared at her surprised. "Do you remember who I am?"

Jane shook her head. "No, I don't. I just put two and two together."

"Well," Cavanaugh cleared his throat not knowing what to say, " I guess we should head to my office." He put his hand gently on her shoulder and led her to the elevator, hitting the 'up' button.

The elevator dinged twice before the doors opened. Out stepped the most beautiful woman Jane had ever seen. She was dressed like a model for a photo shoot. She wore an expensive red dress that accentuated all her curves, and shoes that probably cost more than Jane made all month from the military. Her honey blonde hair was in curly ringlets framed gently around her face, and her hazel eyes stared in shock at Jane before closing off and losing all expression. Jane didn't know who she was, but she seemed familiar enough. Jane frowned. _Do I know her from somewhere?_ Jane wracked her half-empty mind for some sort of memory. _Dammit, that shit frustrates me so much._

"Doctor Isles," Captain Cavanaugh acknowledged her quickly. Jane jumped in the elevator behind him staring past Cavanaugh to the beautiful doctor in more than minor irritation. _Why does some random woman bother me?_

The aforementioned Dr. Maura Isles turned around and nodded to Cavanaugh. "Captain." She stared at Jane, her eyes penetrating, looking at Jane's uniform carefully. Noticing the insignia on Jane's chest, she spoke again. "Captain." She paused, looking at Jane, as if waiting for a response. Jane acknowledged her with a slight glint in her eyes, and an almost imperceptible tip of her head. When Maura realized that no verbal response was forthcoming, she turned heel and left.

Jane laughed, "Well, that was a little cold." The elevator doors closed abruptly.

Cavanaugh turned and regarded her carefully. "Do you know who Dr. Isles is, Jane?"

Jane could tell that there was much more to the question, than the surface. "No."

Cavanaugh cleared his throat. "Well, she's our Chief Medical Examiner. She's been with us for thirteen years, and she been our CME for eleven years."

"That's right," Jane said, "She was handpicked as Dr. Tierney's replacem—" Jane abruptly paused, not knowing why she said that or why she would know something like that. The elevator dinged twice signaling the correct floor.

Cavanaugh didn't say anything, and walked to his office. Holding the door open for Jane, he motioned her inside. He pointed at the two chairs in front of the desk. "Sit," he ordered. Jane sat quietly without any fuss. Cavanaugh walked around his desk and sat in his office chair. "Captain Rizzoli. I understand that your mother arranged for this meeting with the BPD. Lieutenant Korsak wanted you to interview for a job here again, although for the life of me, I can't understand why you left in the first place, and now why you are bothering to come back. Tell me Captain, why do you want to be here?"

Jane contemplated his words. "My mother wants me to be happy. Unfortunately, I haven't been happy in awhile. She told me that I was once a great police officer, and said that I was happiest here than anywhere else I'd been. I'm not sure where I fit in; I know that I can't go back to the military."

Cavanaugh regarded her, "Rizzoli, that was the worst damn reason for anyone to want to join the BPD. What's the real reason? Spit it out."

Jane sighed. "I don't know," she prevaricated. "I want my life to have meaning. I want to do something to help other people. I understand that I succeeded here in great ways and made a difference. I want to make a difference again. Maybe working here will help me remember. I'd like to try my hand at being a cop. I know that I used to be a detective here, but I don't remember any of it. Please give me a chance to prove myself." She sighed again. "I need this," she said quietly.

Sean Cavanaugh crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against his chair, considering her words. He nodded. "All right Rizzoli. You get your chance. Monday morning, report to Lieutenant Detective Korsak in Homicide at 0800. He will assign you your new partner. You will be a probationary detective, until you can retake your detective's exam. You've got some studying to do. Get out of here Jane." He stood up and held out his hand. Jane grabbed it. "Good luck." She turned to go. "Oh," he said, "Jane, don't wear your uniform to work. A pant-suit will be just fine."

Jane smiled and headed for the door. Striding across the office hallway, she headed down to the elevator. She could feel people staring surreptitiously over their cubicles. Apparently they knew who she was, although she didn't know who _they _were. Impatiently, she tapped on the 'down' key. She let out a huge sigh, playing nervously with the beret in her hands.

A smooth female voice beside her spoke with a hint of humor. "You know hitting the down arrow key to the elevator several times does not make the doors open faster. In fact, it could be considered a wasteful expenditure of energy, and shows impatience and a nervous habit."

Jane looked to give whomever this wretched woman was a piece of her damn mind. Instead she smiled a tiny thin-lipped smile. It was the attractive honey-blonde doctor from earlier. The doors opened, and Jane motioned her in first. "After you." Jane followed her in. Jane scratched her head, trying to figure out how she knew the blonde woman. She could feel it in her gut. She knew it, but was too embarrassed to ask. _Hey um Doctor. I think I know you from somewhere. We probably worked together? And um how do I know you?_ Yeah, that was a pretty much a terrible idea. Jane hit the ground floor button, and sighed internally looking at her vague reflection in the polished doors of the elevator.

They both walked out, headed towards the parking lot. Jane watched as the blonde woman headed towards her car, some insanely expensive sports car. "Hey," she suddenly called out, jogging towards the doctor. "Dr. Isles." The blonde woman stopped and waited, facing her vehicle waiting. She didn't turn around. Jane thought it odd, and lightly placed her left hand on Maura's shoulder, turning her 'round gently. Jane looked into her hazel eyes and flashed back to the nurse in the hospital who was there as she woke up. _Wow_, she thought,_ they could be sisters. Hmmm_.

Maura looked up at her with bated breath, waiting for her to speak. Jane put out her right hand, "We haven't been properly introduced yet. I'm Captain Jane Rizzoli. I believe I'll be working with you. I know that you're Doctor Maura Isles. We probably used to work together about five years ago." Jane smiled, assessing Maura's look, noticing a hint of pain before it too faded away. Maura took her hand without speaking, and Jane felt a tiny spark of recognition or _something_, before it too faded away. _Who was this woman?_ Jane frowned internally. "You know," she husked in her low scratchy voice teasingly, "it's rude to stare and not say anything." Jane dropped Maura's hand. Maura still hadn't said anything. She just stared. "All right," Jane said awkwardly, "I'll see you on Monday Doctor Isles." She turned around and walked away to her car.

Maura stared at her as she got into her car and drove off, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "Jane," she whispered.

* * *

_February 11, 2000 Boston Police Department Division One 0800 EST_

Maura enters the BPD Division One Café, and glances over to the counter. A woman, a 'lady of the night', is arguing with Stanley the scowling boss of the shop. At least, this is what Maura hypothesizes, based on information based on clothing, for the dark-haired beauty is wearing a faux fur white coat, knee high pleather boots and skirt, and fishnet stockings. The fashion conscious woman within Maura grimaces at the ugly sight.

"I don't know anything about you . . . Tiffany," Stanley says to the woman.

"Really, two dollars for a day-old doughnut and bad coffee? Please. Come on, I'll get you after my shift," Tiffany whines.

Maura considers herself a Good Samaritan, and decides to give the unfortunate woman some cash to get the line moving. Reaching into her purse, she puts a glove on her right hand, and grabs a twenty-dollar bill out of her wallet. She believes it the only sanitary way to ensure that she does not accidentally catch some awful sexually transmitted disease from this sad woman. She offers it to Tiffany, along with what she considers to be solid advice about desirable nutrition, who does not accept, and seems quite offended.

"Well, not every hooker has a heart o' gold, all right sista', " Tiffany says sarcastically.

Maura is irritated. "Apparently not . . . sister."


	4. Chapter 3: If you Wait Patiently

A/N Sorry it's been so long. I've been trying to get promoted at work, and my job has been unbelievably crazy. I know that I should do more updates, and I am so very sorry. So Two chapters for you who have been patiently waiting.

Here is a more detailed timeline since it was requested:

1991-1995 4 Years Military Service

1995-1996 1 Year Community College

1996-1998 Beat cop

1998-2000 Vice Junior Detective/Meets Maura somewhere in here

2000-2005 Homicide Detective

2005 Shoots Paddy Doyle

2006-2010 Military Service

2011 Rejoins BPD

* * *

If you notice, I change tense in the story. This is done on purpose to help the reader delineate between past and present. I am not a writer.

R/I is the property of TNT. I'm just playing around with it a little. Rated M for Language for now.

* * *

Chapter 3

If You Wait Patiently

_Mid April, 2011 Jane's Apartment 2017 EDT_

Jane threw down her pencil in disgust. She had bitten through it, and now all that remained were the gnarled remains. She had now tried to play catch-up on the detective's exam for the last 24 hours. Who knew that knowing _every single_ damn rule for loitering was so important? _And don't even get me started on 'chains' of evidence_, she thought. She groaned aloud. How was she ever to be ready for this? She should talk to Cavanaugh and Korsak. Perhaps they would just make her a beat cop for the next year so she could play catch-up. Old Jane would know this shit already. All this would make sense to her. She banged her head against the table in frustration. _Damn, useless piece of equipment._ _Figures I'd be in a position like this_. Slamming the insanely large book shut with a loud thump, she got up from her table and grabbed a beer. Turning the cap, she could hear the hiss of the carbonation. She tossed the cap in the direction of the garbage, which frustratingly bounced it off the rim and onto the floor. Sighing, she walked over to the cap, picked it up and tossed it resignedly into the trash receptacle. _Wow, can't even make that_. Taking a long pull from the beer, she walked over to the couch and turned the television on. _Well, at least there's always Sports Center._

Her phone trilled. Setting down her beer carefully, she leaned over the answer it. "Rizzoli," she rasped.

"Janie . . ." Her Ma's screechy voice filled the air. Jane cringed internally. Who knew such a diminutive woman could be so obnoxiously loud. "I'm checking in with my baby. Are you eating right? I know you're not eating right—"

"Ma," Jane cut in, "I'm eating just fine." _If you consider Fruit Loops, chips, and soda food anyway_. "I had a salad today," she blatantly lied.

"Janie, I don't believe you," Angela's voice suspicious, almost growled. "I'm coming over right now, and I'm gonna make you some gnocchi. How does that sound sweetie? Doctor Oz tells us that eating good makes us healthier, happier people."

"Ma, don't come over. Ugh, I'm tired. I just spent all day studying for the detective's exam that I have to retake. I don't know the first thing about crime. And just because some doctor is on tv does not make him the be all/end all for health." Jane squeezed the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"Aww, sweetie. Just let me come over," Angela's voice pleaded.

"No Ma," Jane paused, "but I'll be over there for Sunday dinner."

"All right sweetheart," Angela resigned herself to Jane's response.

"Thanks Ma. Bye-bye now." Jane quickly hung up the phone, and tossed it on the table.

Her phone rang _again_. Jane growled, crawled on her side and grabbed up the phone, attacking the button violently. "Ma, I told you I'd be over there for Sunday dinner, can you just give me one moment of peace?" Jane snarled into the phone.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean, I uh-," the voice on the other end was unsure.

Jane sighed. _Fuck_. "I'm sorry about that. Let's start over again. This is Jane Rizzoli. How may I help you tonight?"

"Jane, this is Mau—Dr. Isles. I got your phone number from the contact database. I hope you don't mind." Maura's voice sounded calmer.

Jane grinned. It was that hot doctor from a few days ago, which would be just her luck that she would be calling her. "No, no I don't mind. What can I do ya' for?" Jane's voice took a slightly flirty tone.

"Firstly, I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you when you introduced yourself to me. I, uh, had a hard day and was just coming off a long shift."

Jane could tell when someone wasn't being quite truthful, or was holding back. It was a gift of hers. But something in her gut told her to just let this one go for now. "No problems," Jane lied, "I barely even noticed; I must have been tired too."

Maura continued, "I also wanted to invite you out to drinks after work on Friday. See, uh, I was thinking that maybe we could get to know one another a little better." She abruptly paused, waiting.

Jane could feel the fear of possible rejection coming over the phone. She didn't know why, there was just something about it. _Did Maura know her before? Nah, _Jane rejected it outright. _There was no way someone as classy as Dr. Maura Isles would even consider being friends with_ _loudmouth social moron Jane Roly-Poly Rizzoli. No fucking way at all_. _But still_ . . . Jane smiled, "I'd be delighted, Dr. Isles."

"Jane, please call me Maura."

"All right—Maura." Jane liked the way her name rolled off her tongue.

_Mid-April 2011, Alleyway 21 Blocks West of BPD Div. One, 1626 EDT_

Jane had shown up to work at 0800, like Captain Cavanaugh requested. Walking up to the Homicide Division, she had been issued a probationary badge, but no gun by Lieutenant Detective Korsak. The Lieutenant informed her not only did she need to re-qualify to receive her weapon, he shouldn't even be handing her a badge until she retested. She apparently was so 'lucky' to get what she got. This Korsak was such a jackass. What did her Ma see in him? Her Ma didn't talk about it, but she knew that they were dating. After all, she wasn't a complete idiot.

And now she was at her first murder scene in what she calculated to be about five years. Approaching the scene, she flashed her badge to the beat cop at the cordon. "Detective Jane Rizzoli, Badge number P-2565."

The officer nodded to her. "Detective Rizzoli. It's nice to see you again, and great to have you back."

"Thanks," she paused to look at his nameplate, noting the two chevrons on his sleeves, "Corporal Evans. It's nice to be back." Evans motioned her through. She walked forward, surveying the scene. Typical alleyway, a complete dump as far as her eyes could see. Approaching the body, she snapped on a pair of purple non-latex gloves and dropped on one knee. "What have we got?" Jane noted the vic, seemingly haphazardly laid face down in the middle of the alleyway. The vic was wearing a white button-up collared shirt, dark jeans, and curiously was missing his shoes. What appeared to be stab wounds crisscrossed the upper right quadrant of body. The body appeared to have been dropped here. Somehow, in this moment, everything felt familiar to her, slipping on the gloves, surveying a crime scene. Perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult to adjust after all, even if she still couldn't remember a damn thing.

A coffee colored hand dropped down into her line of sight. "Senior Detective Barry Frost."

Jane squinted up, trying hard to make out his face, as he stood directly in the sun's path. Not making heads nor tails, she put her hands to her thighs and pushed up, slowly unbending her long legs from the kneeling position. Now she could view him better. He was shorter than she, by about three inches. Jane grabbed his hand. "Detective Frost, I'm Jane Rizzoli."

Frost smiled nervously, his dimples showing prominently in his face, his white teeth stark against his dark skin, "I, err, know. Umm, we're partners."

Jane grasped his hand a little longer before dropping it abruptly. "You're nervous. You knew me _before_, didn't you?" Her voice was quiet, not accusing, just questioning.

"Yeah." Frost had a just a one word answer. He waited.

Jane's eyebrow rose. "Well, let's get to it. Partner." She kneeled back down on one bended knee, considering the situation surrounding her. Frost dropped down beside her, and she looked over at him. Suddenly something occurred to her. "You're not nervous because you knew me in passing at the station. We were partners _before_ weren't we?" She referred to her previous life as a detective, which she barely understood.

Frost sighed. "Yeah."

Jane smiled, "Well all right then." Jane paused. "You know Frost that I took this job in part to figure out who I am, or what I was. I want to know. Don't have to worry so much. Oh, and stand away from the body and the crime scene if you have to puke." She winked.

Barry gasped internally. _How did she know that? Did she remember?_

It was if Jane read his mind, "Frost, don't get creeped out. Some of the guys let me know that you have the propensity to drop 'special things' at crime scenes, including yourself." Jane cackled.

Frost rolled his eyes. It was like old times, even if Jane still didn't remember.

A sports car could be heard idling in the distance before pulling to a complete stop. Feet encased in Louboutins dropped to the pavement, as a heavy car door was shut. Frost heard, and then smiled. "Ah, our ME is here."

Confident footsteps encased in red heels could be heard traipsing across the pavement before stopping right in front of Jane. Jane could smell some sort of (most likely) expensive floral perfume slightly radiating off Maura's body, even with the stench of the dead body surrounding her. Jane fought off the urge to lean closer and breath in the ME's scent. Instead she focused blankly on the doctor's well-toned calves, registering in the back of her mind how beautifully formed they were. Barry cleared his throat nervously. "Rizzoli."

Jane coughed loudly and looked up. "Er. . . Dr. Isles. How nice to see you?"

Maura set her Gucci bag down gently, and felt around for some examination gloves in the side pocket. Snapping them on, she began initial examination. "White male, approximately 68 inches tall. He has two penetrating stab wounds on the posterior proximal to his right scapula, and a cut severing the carotid artery on his right side. Rigor mortis has not set in, which suggests the victim has been dead for less than four hours. There does not appear to be enough blood on scene for exsanguination, suggesting that the body was moved."

Jane could feel a headache settling behind her eyes. "Dr. Isles. In layman's terms please."

Maura smiled at her, and began gently, "The victim was stabbed in the main artery, the carotid artery in his neck. He has two deep stab wounds on his back, near his shoulder blade, and most likely he's been dead for less than four hours."

Jane sighed, stopping herself before she rolled her eyes at the good doctor. "I got that last part. I'm not a complete idiot you know." Standing up, she proffered her hand to the doctor, who gladly took it and got up. "But thank you, Doctor," she said with a minor trace of sarcasm. Jane's hand tingled where the doctor touched her. A sense of déjà vu struck her . . . again. _Who was this woman? _Jane shuddered slightly at the thought, grasping at memories still just out of reach.

Maura's hand carefully touched her shoulder, "Are you all right?"

Jane was startled out of her reverie. "Yes," she spluttered, "of course I am."

Maura seemed to hesitate, unsure of what to say. "A-all right then . . ."

"You're not gonna start in on that Google-mouth shit of yours are you?" Jane laughed, and then frowned again. _Where did that come from? _She nervously pulled off her gloves.

Maura grimaced, "Jane, language." She paused again, seemingly considering Jane's words carefully.

Jane laughed a large belly laugh that seemed to escape from her pores. "All right Maura, you win." She touched Maura's forearm soothingly. "When will you perform the autopsy?"

"Tomorrow morning. It's getting too late, unless you need it done now." Maura deferred to Jane.

"No Dr. Isles," Jane winked at her. "Tomorrow will be just fine." _Wait, am I flirting with her? _

Maura looked over to her coroner's assistant. "Joe, you can take the body back to my lab. Please process everything as usual, and place the victim in refrigerator #2. I'm going to get back to the lab to begin the paperwork for the body. Call me with any questions." She began to walk back to her car.

Jane followed, intrigued by the beautiful medical examiner. "Maura, you want to get lunch tomorrow after the autopsy?"

Smiling brightly, Maura answered, "That sounds wonderful Jane."


	5. Chapter 4: Who am I?

If you notice, I change tense in the story. This is done on purpose to help the reader delineate between past and present. I am not a writer.

R/I is the property of TNT. I'm just playing around with it a little. Rated M for Language for now.

* * *

Chapter 4

Who Am I?

_Mid-April 2011, BPD Div. One, 1706 EDT_

Jane leisurely hit the down key on the elevator, and ran her scarred hands through her hair. She was nervous. _I have no reason to feel this way at all. It's just drinks_. _You had lunch with her on Wednesday._ The elevator doors dinged open, and she sauntered out, down the hallway to Autopsy. _Why do they always have to put dead bodies in the basement?_

Jane and Maura had gone out to lunch on Wednesday. To Jane's surprise, they hit it off famously despite Jane's tendency to become a little nervous at times. It was a wonderful surprise to get along with someone so well. _It was easy_, Jane thought, _way too easy_. It was as if they had been friends for years. Jane frowned internally. Did she know Maura in the past? Maura had not mentioned any previous friendship with Jane during their lunch or their subsequent conversations. It was probably all in her head anyway. Jane sighed. They came from such different backgrounds anyway. Jane had _picked_ up on that right way. The way the doctor elegantly held a glass of wine, and sipped daintily without making a mess, and the fact that she had _ordered_ a glass of wine in the first place. Jane was lucky there was a beer and a burger available at the slightly upscale restaurant that the doctor had insisted that they eat. And now they were going out for drinks. Jane anxiously smoothed her blue oxford shirt, as she quietly tapped the doorframe leading into Maura's office. "Dr. Isles."

Maura looked up from the pile of files on her desk that she was reviewing. A small smile replaced the intense look of concentration on her face. "Detective." Dropping her pen, she pushed the manila folders aside, and motioned Jane into her office. She got up quickly and grabbed her purse.

Jane chuckled softly to herself. Maura always looked so beautiful, even if it was the end of a long work day. Jane had never seen even one hair out of place; everything was so very perfectly put together.

Maura looked up startled, hearing Jane's soft laugh. "What, is there something wrong with me?" She glanced down at her flawless outfit. "Do I have a stain somewhere? I had coffee earlier today, and sometimes I dribble. Paper cups sometimes don't have the structure to hold hot liquids." She frowned suddenly, realizing she was babbling nervously.

Jane just shook her head. "No, Dr. Isles. You look perfect as usual." She stared intently into the blonde's eyes, a hidden meaning simmered beneath the surface of her words. Her hand, unbidden on its own accord, snaked out to touch Maura's forearm, casually like it was something she did often.

Maura leaned in closer anticipating the touch. . .

Jane, realizing that she _barely knew this woman_, snatched her uncooperative appendage back as if she'd been stung. She flushed slightly. Maura took a quick hop in the opposite direction, as if she'd been slapped. Jane noticed a look of consternation and something else in her face, before it was smoothed away. She looked down at her hand. _Why'd I do that?_ She chastised herself internally. She glanced up at Maura, quickly trying to distract herself. "Are you ready to go?"

_May 17, 2005, Maura's Residence in Beacon Hill, 2114 EDT_

Jane has shot people before in self-defense. It's part of her job. This is not something she relishes, but if there is a situation that calls for her to lay it on the line, she is ready. This is something that the police academy has trained her to do. She does not shirk her duty, no matter the cost it seems.

Today the cost has been indescribably great. Not only has she shot her best friend's biological father, she has also damaged her carefully nurtured friendship with Maura. Jane is knows that she needs to see Maura to apologize. Perhaps there is some way for her to salvage what is left of their friendship. Hopefully, this is not the end of it. This can't be the end. She recalls countless hours spent with Maura. She does things that she would never do with her blue-collar background. Before she meets Maura, she will never go to the ballet, or run a marathon, or allow herself to be taken to some fancy restaurant where she can't pronounce the names of any of the food.

Before Maura comes into her life, Jane has a comfort zone. She won't allow herself to be removed from that easily. But Maura has opened her eyes, has introduced her to the wonders of food that didn't come out of a bucket, has even given her a reason to drink wine with dinner and not beer. But, mostly Maura has given her the greatest gift, the pleasure of knowing her, of spending time with her and getting to know her. See, Maura is a genius. She should have been socially awkward, but instead of just being strange (which she certainly was in spades), her demeanor is charming. She has won Jane over originally with her fastidious attention to detail, her perplexing monologues, and her utterly charming personality. Jane has never met anyone so completely unique in her life, and she knows that it will never happen again.

Jane raises her hand to knock on the wooden door and hesitates slightly. She knows that in life, many things come down to certain moments. This is one of those moments. She shakes her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Jane doesn't know why she does this. She's been doing it all her life, and somehow she finds it a comfort. Suddenly she feels like she's in a fucking movie. She wants to look around. Perhaps this day has been a bad dream. Maura has said before that _"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."_ Jane looked that up once, realizing that of course Maura would quote Shakespeare to her. She thinks about it now. _It's as if my life has already been written for me_. She can't hold off from knocking any longer. Jane is scared, scared that Maura does not want to talk to her ever again. Sighing, she puts her hand up to the door, and knocks loudly, once, twice, three times. Her knock bespeaks of more courage than is currently in her right now.

Perhaps she is wrong. Is Maura not home yet? She looks over to the side window. Lights are on, and Maura's car is parked in the driveway. Nope, Maura is here. She hears light footsteps quickening to the door, and there's a slight pause. She hears the door handle being turned haltingly. Jane braces herself in anticipation. Perhaps she should have waited for more than a few hours to try to apologize, to explain her side. Maybe she should come another day. In fact, she could just hold off. Jane contemplates leaving, but knows it's too late. She's never backed down from a fight in her entire life, and she's not about to start now.

The door opens slowly, Jane might say almost reluctantly. Maura stares at her. Jane can see betrayal and distrust in her eyes. Jane always has something to say. Inner Jane is nudging her to speak up. "Maura." Jane's throaty voice cracks.

Maura stands there staring unblinkingly at Jane, the hall light shining behind her. It makes her seem bigger than she is. She does not invite Jane in. She is waiting for Jane to speak.

Jane still doesn't know what to say. This is her last stand so to speak. _Think!_, she screams to herself internally. "Maura, I'm so sorry, but it had to be done. I didn't know what else to do. He had a gun, and he was aiming at Frost. I reacted—"

"You don't think." Maura interrupts her. She sighs, "You never think. You just do. That's the problem Jane."

"Maura, it's built into me. I was trying to protect—"

"Yes, Jane," Maura interrupts caustically, "you were trying to 'protect' you. You didn't even consider me or how it would make me feel. You just did as you were 'trained' to do. That's your damn excuse for everything."

Jane knows that Maura is extremely upset. She never cusses. In fact, Jane has never heard her use one curse word. She stands there in silence as Maura rages on.

"You don't have anything. You always fall back on the same excuse over again. 'I'm a cop and this is what I was trained to do.' 'I shot myself through my own body.' 'This is what I was trained to do.' You hide behind the pathetic safety of your job for your excuses. For once, sit yourself down and reevaluate your position in life. Take responsibility for your actions. Stop hiding behind your mantra of 'I'm a big bad-ass cop, and that's all I know how to be.' It's utterly pathetic and not worth a modicum of my valuable time."

Jane is seething in anger. Maura's words wound her. "You don't understand me at all. You call me out as this selfish bitch, hiding behind my job like it's my only excuse to live."

"Perhaps it is," Maura mutters.

Jane continues desperately, "I'm fucking trying here." An errant tear slowly tracks its way down her cheek. She pauses to think, and continues more gently, "What can I do? How can I make this better?" She notices her hands are closed into fists, like she is getting ready for a physical altercation. She forces herself to relax, breathing deeply, and slowly opens her hands which are starting to cramp.

Maura stares at her, her face unreadable.

Jane takes a step toward her, and reaches out her hand. A slap echoes through the air. Jane takes a couple of steps back, rubbing her cheek in disbelief. _So that's how its gonna be_, she thinks, sensing a note of finality to her long friendship. She looks at Maura. Maura's face is filled with regret; she stares down at her right hand. Jane realizes that she has turned her gentle refined friend into something that she doesn't recognize. _She_ has done this. Maybe it _was _too soon to try to make things better. Too late now. Jane turns mechanically to leave. She knows that she just made everything worse. She hears a wail escape from Maura, and a slight thump as Maura presses her body against the doorway. Now she's made Maura cry . . . again. She's such an asshole. She doesn't know what to do now.

_Two days later_

Jane tries to speak to her again. She's thought about it. _After all_, she reasons, _Rizzoli's_ _never back down from a fight_. Maybe this time she can come up with a better game plan. She slowly makes her way down to the morgue, staring through the office window at her erstwhile best friend working diligently at her desk. She taps hesitantly on the open door.

Maura looks up. Her eyes narrow as she sees who it is. "What do _you _want?" she says coldly.

"To try to . . ." Jane suddenly blanks out, not knowing what to say.

"Yes?" Maura is waiting.

"Please," Jane pleads, "let me make it up to you. I need you in my life Maura."

Maura frowns. "That's Dr. Isles to you, _Detective_."

Jane is stunned. "I see," she says softly. And she does understand. She does an about-face out of the M.E.'s office. Going straight to her desk, she robotically types out a letter of resignation. Marching into Lieutenant Cavanaugh's office, she tosses the document on his desk.

He cocks an eyebrow, and looks down at the letter. "Are you sure Rizzoli?"

"Yes, Sir." She stands almost at attention, but not quite.

Cavanaugh nods in understanding. "All right then, Rizzoli."

Jane places her badge and gun on his desk, turning to leave.

The Lieutenant speaks, as if realizing something. "What will you do now?"

Jane stops and turns around. "Go back to what I used to know. They need good officers in the military." She pauses, considering her words. "There's a war on, you know," she says sarcastically. She turns again to walk out the door.

"Be safe." Cavanaugh calls after her.

Jane doesn't turn around.


	6. Chapter 5: Mighty Strong Tower

A/N: Hello all. I know that it's been simply ages since I updated this story. I do have every intention of finishing this. I've just been extremely slammed with everything. Unfortunately life got in the way. My father died, I received a promotion at work, and life got in the way.

I do not own Rizzoli and Isles. Janet Tamaro, TNT, and Tess Gerritson do. Rated M for language and violence. On with the show.

* * *

Chapter 5

Mighty Strong Tower

_Mid-April 2011, BPD Div. One, 1709 EDT_

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," Maura responded.

Jane turned away and walked towards the door. Looking back towards Maura, she beckoned her. "Doc, let's go." She grinned, "Times a-wasting." She made a show of tapping her silver timepiece on her left hand. "It's already beer-thirty."

Maura grinned. "Sounds delightful." Her voice lowered slightly. "After you, Detective."

Jane nodded, and offered her arm to Maura. "Shall I drive, or would you like to do the honors?"

"Well, usually—," Maura cut herself off quickly.

Jane frowned, "Usually what?"

Maura blushed, suddenly silent. "I . . ." she trailed off.

Jane rubbed her nose in consternation, suddenly filled with a sense of irritation. "Whatever. Anyway," she continued, "Let's go." She grabbed Maura's arm and led her out. They stepped silently in time with each other. Jane stared off in the distance contemplatively. Walking towards her car, she opened the passenger seat for Maura, who promptly got inside. Slamming the door shut, Jane walked to the other side and seated herself, buckling her seatbelt. Looking over to her passenger she asked, "Where do we go?"

Maura grinned slightly. "Well, it seems to be tradition to go to the Dirty Robber. That's probably where most of our colleagues will be."

Jane nodded. "All right, the Dirty Robber it is." She put the key into the ignition, and started the car. "Where is it?"

"I'll direct you."

They made it there in less than five minutes, the only words heard in the car being Maura's quiet directions.

Jane pulled slowly into a parking spot, and Maura released her seatbelt quickly. Jane motioned for her to pause, and jumped quickly out of the car. Walking swiftly over to the passenger side, she opened the door and beckoned Maura out. "My lady," Jane winked teasingly.

Maura smiled. "Thank you very much." She exaggeratedly batted her eyelashes. Jane offered her left arm, which Maura promptly grabbed.

Jane walked them carefully to the door of the Dirty Robber, and opened the door gently, motioning Maura to go first. "After you," she rasped. She could see the Doctor breathing heavily. "It's okay," Jane grabbed her arm pulling her towards a booth. Settling Maura into her seat, she strode over to the bartender. "MGD, on tap if you have it." She wracked her brain for what a classy lady would drink. "—and a glass of what you consider to be your best pinot noir." The bartender nodded, and quickly took care of the drinks. Jane tipped generously and brought them back to the booth. "Here ya go," she said, setting the wine glass down.

Maura carefully picked up the glass by the stem, and took a hesitant sip. Her eyes brightened. "Pinot noir. Not bad here."

Jane looked down at the table and smiled, a small secret smile just to herself. "You're welcome Doctor," she muttered.

Maura just smiled at her, seemingly entranced by her beautiful friend's face. She drew in a deep breath. "Now that you're a week into work, what's your opinion of it now?"

Jane smiled. "Now that's an awkwardly phrased question, Dr. Isles," she gently teased. "Nothing better to say?"

Maura's forehead furrowed. "No, not really."

Jane laughed. "I'm joking Doctor. Don't take me seriously."

"I don't know how to distinguish between joking and serious statements. It's something that I'm working on," Maura hesitantly explained.

"Hey, no harm, no foul." Jane reached over and stilled Maura's nervously moving hands. Automatically her fingers slowly began to stroke the Doctor's hands in a soothing manner. A thought occurred to her suddenly. "Why are you so very careful around me?"

She could see Maura gauging her carefully, and watched as the Doctor's face went from slightly flushed in the cheeks, to pale very quickly. "I . . ." the doctor trailed off.

Jane sensed that Maura wasn't ready to talk about it, whatever it was. She decided not to push the Doctor. They had only just met anyway. Jane realized suddenly that she was caressing the Doctor's hands. She blushed, and drew back her hands quickly. "Sorry." She grabbed a quick pull of her beer to cover her embarrassment. Maura stared at her, her eyes penetrating, analyzing.

Jane decided to change the subject. Things were sliding downhill fast. "What's your favorite thing to do on your off-time?"

Maura brightened considerably. "I enjoy jogging and yoga. On weekends."

Jane cringed on the inside. "Jogging and yoga. Heh."

Maura giggled. Her flirty tone came back in full force. "It sounds like you hate those kinds of things Detective. What do you like to do for fun?"

Jane motioned around her. "This. I enjoy drinking beer, and spending time with my friends." She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "I also like drinking beer, and watching the Sox on television."

"Wow, sounds like you have a varied and interesting lifestyle."

"Don't tell anyone," Jane put a hand over her heart. "Promise."

"If that is your wish, of course. Anything for you."

After the hesitant start in their evening, the alcohol started flowing more freely, as well as the conversation. Jane looked down at her watch. "It's getting late. Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow?"

Maura shook her head. "Not really."

"Let's get a cab then. Would you like to come back to my place for a bit?"

"Sure."

Jane got quickly up, grabbed her stuff and waited for Maura to put on her coat. "Let's go." She tugged on Maura's hand.

The cab was waiting for them out front. Once again, Jane opened up the door for Maura._ This feels suspiciously like a date_, Jane suddenly thought. She quickly gave the cabbie the address to her apartment, and leaned tiredly back in the seat, letting out a small sigh.

She heard Maura's voice next to hers inquire softly, "Are you all right?"

Even though Jane knew that Maura couldn't see her face, her lips thinly tightened into a semblance of a smile. "Fine, just fine."

The cabbie dropped them promptly off in the front of Jane's apartment building. Maura insisted on paying.

Jane led them cautiously up to her place, silently berating herself for asking Maura to continue the night. _What the heck am I supposed to do with her now?_ _Well . . ._ Jane thought wickedly, _I could . . . _Jane abruptly pushed dirty thoughts out of her head. She slowly opened the door.

"And here is my shitty little apartment," she announced, motioning her hands wildly around the place, as she pushed the door shut behind them.

"Jane," Maura admonished.

_Language_. Jane thought.

"Language."

Jane just laughed, and pulled Maura into her arms. "I predicted that." She stared down at the Doctor, suddenly realizing that Maura was once again looking intently into her eyes. "You're always analyzing me. You're always so careful." She caressed Maura's cheek gently, her dark brown eyes were drawn to hazel ones like a magnet. "Why are you so careful?" Jane suddenly felt the need to kiss her. "Maura," she whispered, a benediction. She leaned closer.

A tear tracked its way down Maura's face. She smiled, the smile not quite reaching her eyes, and took a calculated step back from Jane's arms. "Movie?" she asked.

Jane shook herself out of her reverie, and genuinely cracked a smile. "Sure Doctor. Whatever you want." She walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. "Sorry Doctor. I don't have any of your fancy wine at my apartment. You'll have to rough it with beer." She opened the two beverages and offered one to Maura. She walked over to her selection of DVD's and chose one. "Have you seen _Dumb and Dumber_?" she asked.

"Unfortunately yes," Maura said, chuckling.

"Well, I haven't for awhile. So, that's what we're watching."

Maura sighed in mock frustration. "Anything you want."

They both settled onto the couch, and Jane started the movie. A few minutes later, she got up to pop some popcorn. She lightly salted it, and added a bit of butter, bringing it back to the couch. They continued watching the movie in silence, their hands occasionally brushing together in the bowl. Jane's hand tingled each time. At the end of the movie, Jane looked over to Maura, and noticed that she had nodded off. Jane couldn't help herself. She caressed the side of Maura's face softly. "So lovely," she whispered. Getting up, she pulled Maura into her arms, and carried her gently to her bed. She realized that a fashion plate like Maura would not appreciate being dressed, sleeping in bed. Grabbing a t-shirt and sweatpants from her dresser, she pulled off Maura's dress slowly, hung it up, and quickly redressed her in the clothing. The doctor was malleable, not putting up much of a fuss. Pulling the blankets back, she settled Maura into her bed, and laid the blankets gently over her. Rubbing her forehead, she grabbed a spare blanket and pillow, and went to sleep on the couch. She was out like a light.

The next morning she woke up, a note by her head.

_Thanks for the lovely evening. See you at work. _

_Maura_


	7. Chapter 6: Be Still

A/N 17 May is a very important day to me. This was the day that I left for Basic. You might say that this was the day my life changed. I wouldn't say that it changed for the better, but it certainly changed me.

Thank you for all the reviews, and the follows, everyone. I will try to update again soon. I know that I haven't been doing that. As I said last chapter, life got in the way.

Warning: Angst to follow in this chapter.

* * *

I do not own Rizzoli and Isles. Janet Tamaro, TNT, and Tess Gerritson do. Rated M for language and violence. On with the show.

* * *

Chapter 6  
Be Still

_May 17, 2005, Jane's Apartment, 2201 EDT._

Jane is pissed. She is freaking pissed. What is she supposed to do now? Maura slapped her tonight. Refined, classy _Maura_. Fuck. She grabs a beer out of the fridge and takes a huge gulp. She chugs it like it's a panacea and grunts, tossing it haphazardly in the direction of the trashcan. Popping the cap off another one, she sighs and drinks more slowly. She knows that there is no way that Maura is going to forgive her. Not right now anyway. She has to regroup and think about her next move. That's right, she has to think about it. _So, Sperm Donor Dad means more than a six year friendship. Well._ She takes another sip, and sighs. _I guess that makes sense. Dammit, why did I—_

The doorbell rings.

_Shit. Who's at the door now?_ Jane groans internally. _Maybe it's Maura_. She chuckles bitterly to herself. _Sure, and pigs fly._ She slams the useless drink on the counter and walks towards the door. The bell rings again, followed by insistent knocking. "Coming!" she speaks up. Not bothering to check the peephole, she carelessly swings open the door. Seeing who it is makes her beam. "Casey Jones! What the hell are you doing here Captain?"

"Jane." Casey's English accent is thick and lazy tonight. "I'm on leave for the next week, and I just got in. I thought to myself, who in their right mind would be up at this time of night, and might want to see me? Jane. That's the ticket." He grins.

Jane steps aside and lets him in through the door. "Well come on in then. I'm glad to see you." She sighs softly. "Glad for the distraction anyway." She grabs his cover from his hands, and pulls him in, tossing the hat on the table.

Casey evaluates her carefully. "Jane," he asks, "what's wrong?"

Jane sighs again. "Nothing Casey. Nothing and everything." She stops speaking for a second, lost in her own thoughts. "Geez, I'm so rude. Beer, Casey?"

Casey grins. "Beer me Jane."

"Coming right up." She grabs a draft from the fridge, pops off the top, and hands it to him.

They sit on the couch talking of nothing important, catching up for the next hour. Jane thinks of Maura suddenly. Her face stiffens.

"Jane," Casey says. "What is going on with you? I've seen you sad. I've seen you down, but this really takes the cake. Tell your good friend Casey what's happening right now in your life."

Jane leans forward, and sets down her eighth beer of the night. She rubs the bridge of her nose. Gathering her thoughts, she makes a decision to talk to Casey about Maura. After all, there is no one else available. Casey is there, and he is willing. She tells him how she met her in the café. She tells him stories of crazy things together that Maura has made her do. She mentions that Maura makes her go to Yoga, and makes her go running with her. Casey knows that Jane hates running marathons. And Yoga. And classical music orchestras. And opera. And food from fancy French restaurants that she can't pronounce the name. She tells him that Maura is the single best thing that has happened to her in years. She tells him that Maura became her best friend despite all their differences. Finally she tells him about shooting Paddy Doyle, Maura's biological father. How she didn't know if he was going to live or die, but Maura wouldn't listen to her, wouldn't let her explain. Told her to go away. Casey hears how broken Jane is—

"—You love her, don't you." It's said as a statement, not as a question.

"Of course, I love her. She's my best friend." Jane is perplexed for a moment by his statement, and puts her beer to her mouth intending to take a sip.

"No Jane. You don't love her. You _love_ her, don't you." Casey places his large hands over her smaller ones, gently forcing her to put the beer down.

"I don't know what you mean." Jane knows what he means, but she is being deliberately obtuse. Jane is afraid. In the back of her mind, she knows what he's trying to say.

"Jane." Casey grasps her hands delicately. "I've known you for ages. We went to school together, we keep in touch. We served together. Not in the same unit, but . . . we spent a lot of time together. You've always been fiercely independent. That was a major reason I had a huge thing for you in high school. You were so attractive with your . . . angry face." He chuckles slightly. "You would never do anything that you didn't want to do. Yoga, museums, running. Jane, you hate running."

"I hate running," Jane repeats slowly. She whips her hands from his, pressing them into her face, and leans back into the couch. "I fucking hate running." She grunts. "Fuck Maura." Her hands muffle her voice.

Casey grabs her shoulder, and gently massages it. "Jane, you don't mean that."

Jane puts her hands down. Her palms tingle. She rubs them together, and clenches them into fists. It reminds her of the day when she couldn't even make her hands move. _Now, that was a bad day_, she thinks. She looks over at her friend. "I need to leave. I need to get the fuck outta here. I can't stand looking at Maura. Jesus, shit's gotten so bad, my ma isn't even speaking to me at this moment." An idea occurs to her. "I can go back in. There's a war on. I know the Army needs people."

Casey looks at her. "I don't think that's a good idea Jane. Everybody has a tendency to make rash decisions when they're drunk. You don't want to just pack up and leave. You have a fucking life here." He shakes his head. "Don't run. Not from this."

Jane gets up and starts pacing frenetically. "And why shouldn't I? I do my job, and all that happens is I get fucked over and over again." She holds her hands out to Casey. "Look at my fucking hands Casey. Look at them." A tear drips down the corner of her eye. "God, I'm drunk."

The Captain stands up slowly, and walks over to Jane. Gently, he caresses his fingers over the inside of her right hand, circling slowly around the scar with his pointer finger. "Jane," he says sadly. "You know that you don't join the military to run away from problems." Inclining his head, he pauses and considers. "Well, at least you shouldn't." He laughs suddenly at the irony of it all. "I'm a Captain in the fucking Army, and I'm telling one of the best soldiers that I ever had a chance with whom to work not to go back into the military. What the hell?" He stares intently at her face. "Promise me, that you'll think about this sober, not drunk. If this is your decision, I will help make it happen. If this is what you want, I will do everything in my power to get you back in." He grins suddenly. "We'll make it cushy for you. You could go officer if you want. I know you have your degree now. I will sponsor you at OCS. You could be a butter bar!"

Jane laughs, her first real laugh in days. "Okay, well now I know I've had too much to drink. Me, in Officer Candidate School. That'll be the fucking day. Can you imagine me as a fucking paper pusher? Damn, that's what I do now at my current job. Why would I want to do that _all the god-damned time_?"

He laughs along with her, but sobers. "Jane," he sighs, "we really do need people. And you Jane, well, you're good people."

"I know Casey. I really understand."

"I'm not telling you that you should commission or reenlist for that matter."

"I know Casey."

She calls him two days later.

* * *

_June 21, 2007, 1402 Local Time, Somewhere in Iraq. _

A slap echoes across the silence of the cell. A heavily accented voice screams at her in English. "You are a stupid fucking cunt. Now give me the information that I seek."

Jane spits a tooth from her bloodied mouth. "I don't know anything else," she heaves. She is hungry, she is starving. And where the fuck is her platoon? Why hasn't anyone rescued her yet?

"Not good enough." He backhands her this time. She doesn't say anything. He kicks her in the kidneys and grabs a whip. He is pissed, and wants her to cry out. He is going to make her beg for absolution. Puffs of dust intermingled with hints of sunlight surround him, making the air around him active, screaming.

Jane glances up, seeing the whip coming down towards her back. _Well shit_, she thinks.

* * *

They rescue her one day later. She is battered, but she is alive. They give her a medal. Two actually—a Purple Heart and a Silver Star. She saved her platoon the day she was captured. It was supposed to be a basic escort. They had been under heavy fire. They had just been transporting some supplies across a road that they traversed quite often. They were ambushed. She pushed her men back into the Humvees, and shot cover as they got away.

* * *

The military forces her to take a month of leave after her experience. They tell her that she doesn't have to go back, but she wants to. She has nothing in Boston. Nothing to go home to anymore. She despises herself for missing home (and Maura). She obviously can't stay with Maura. So, she goes to her mother's apartment.

She wants to ask about Maura. Sometimes she'll begin to ask her Ma, but she decides against it.

On the final day of leave her mother pleads with her, _begs _her to stay. She refuses. Her men need her, and besides, she just signed to up her contract for four more years. It's comfortable being away from _this thing _that hangs over her head. She's a good soldier. She puts on her Class A's and readies herself for more. She has scars on her hands from Charles Hoyt. Now she has more scars on her body from being tortured in Iraq. She can't feel the pain from the whip marks across her body anymore, but yet she feels pain radiating from her heart. She has a duty. She will fulfill it. Still her ma pleads with her to stay. To be a coward. She is not that, nor is that something that she will ever be.

She straightens her hat, and walks towards the door, grabbing her green duffle on the way out. "Love you Ma," she says, grabbing her for one last hug. Her Ma grasps her tightly, unwilling to release her. Jane gently, but firmly wrests her body from her mother. She turns to Frankie and gives him a tight squeeze. "Take care of Ma, you asshole." She punches him in the shoulder.

"Owww, Janie, you know that fucking hurts," Frankie complains. He hesitates. "You didn't speak with Maura, did you? She—"

Angela Rizzoli slaps him upside the head. "Frankie. Shut up."

Jane frowns. "Why?" she asks.

Angela just glares at Frankie. "Nuthin'," he mutters.

* * *

Jane hasn't seen Maura in over two years. She is curious about why Frankie brought her name up. Jane does not know if Maura even knows that she is in town, or how she is actually doing. Jane knows that her mother blames Maura for her rejoining the military. Yes, it is Maura's fault. But, it was the right decision at the time. Jane has had a lot of time out in the Sandbox to think about her situation. She knows that she is serving her country, and that is what is important now. Jane wonders is Maura still lives in Beacon Hill at the same place. She has not asked, but has a few hours before her flight. Making a last minute decision, she decides to go over to see Maura. Perhaps since a couple of years has passed, Maura may have forgiven her.

She drives slowly to Maura's house, and gets out of the car. Passing the manicured lawns, and exquisite garden beds, she moves steadily towards the front door. Pulling off her cover, she places it under her left arm. Taking a deep breath, she knocks once and twice. She waits. She knocks again. Maybe no one is home.

Maura's door suddenly opens. She stands there and stares at Jane surprised. "I was just on my way out when I heard the—"

Jane drops her hat, grabs her, and pulls her towards her, crushing her to her body. "Maura." She gazes at the ME, holding onto her like a life preserver.

Maura looks up at her. Tears are running down her face. "Jane. It's been so long. I tried to contact you. Your mother wouldn't give me any information. I tried to speak with your brothers. No one would tell me. I'm so sorry. I'm just so sorry."

Her hands grasp the back of Jane's uniform, digging into to her. Jane stiffens, suddenly in pain. Maura can feel the bandages through her polyester uniform. "Jane? What happened?" She says suddenly fearful.

"Don't worry about it." Jane gently releases Maura, and pushes her hands back from around her. She looks down at her shiny black shoes, no longer able to meet her former best friend's eyes.

"Jane, look at me." Maura adds gently, "Please." She grabs her chin with her hands. "I missed you, and even if you don't want to tell me what happened, it's fine. I'm just glad that you're safe." She leans forward, pulling Jane closer to her again, and leans in to give her a kiss on her cheek. At the last minute, Jane turns slightly, not realizing Maura's intent.

Jane thinks that this is the most awkward first kiss that she's ever experienced in the world. She doesn't move her lips, doesn't breathe, as Maura's full lips peck carefully over her mouth. She clenches her hands into fists, and wills herself not to move, not to react, not to give anything away.

Maura steps back, surprise in her eyes. "Jane, I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ." she trails off mortified.

They stand there staring at each other. Time stands still.

_Awww, fuck it_, Jane thinks. She grabs Maura, and pulls her close to her again. She plants her lips gently on Maura's moving her lips tenderly, memorizing the feel, the wetness. She can taste Maura's chapstick as it coats her lips. She senses Maura's hesitation through the kiss, and then her acceptance, as the Doctor slowly melts into Jane's body. She runs her hands up and down Maura's muscled back, feeling the planes and the divots, marveling at her core strength, and delicate womanhood. Gently, she releases Maura, and steps back once again. Regaining some of her composure, she clears her voice.

"I re-upped for 4 more years, Maura. I leave today, but I had to see you." She gently reaches out to cup Maura's face.

Maura blinks back tears. "It's my fault isn't it," she says bitterly, "just like Angela said."

"No." Jane gazes at her unblinkingly. "I ran back to the military originally to get away from here. But, now I'm staying because-not because I want to run away. I re-upped my contract, because I'm needed. I can do good over there. I can help."

"Are you? Helping?"

"Yes, Maura."

They stand there staring at each other for a bit longer. "Ahem." Jane looks at her watch awkwardly. "I have to go now. Plane to catch. Goodbye Maura." She turns to leave.

"Jane."

She turns back around.

"Are you ever coming back?"

"Do you want me to?"

Maura hesitates. "I . . ."

Jane regards her seriously. "Okay," she says simply. Impulsively, she kisses her again. Picking up her dropped hat, she runs to her car, not looking back.

Maura stands at the door and stares as Jane drives away. Again.

She does not realize that this is the last time she will see Jane for 4 years.


	8. Chapter 7: What if I Stumble?

A/N: Thank you dear readers for all the reviews and follows. Each one is greatly appreciated.

* * *

I do not own Rizzoli and Isles. Janet Tamaro, TNT, and Tess Gerritsen do. Rated M for language and violence. On with the show.

* * *

Chapter 7

What if I Stumble

_Beginning of May, 2011, Boston, Mid-Afternoon, Storage Units Plus_

Jane felt the sweat rolling down her back tracking its way towards the top of her backside. Sweat dripped down her nose as she leaned down. Frowning, she wiped the sweat off, rubbing it on her black pants. Unfortunately, it was unseasonably warm in Boston. The heat radiated off the blacktop, and Jane felt it to her core. _How the hell did I ever survive 5 years in the fucking desert_? She groused internally. _I can't stand heat._ She laughed. Good thing she didn't remember. She thought of the whip scars on her legs and back. At Walter Reed, they had informed her that she had been tortured in Iraq. When she was alone these days, she would contemplate her existence. Her scars on her body told a story of torture and pain. Sometimes she considered herself lucky that she didn't remember. After all, who would want to remember torture? Or, for that matter, being stabbed by a crazy serial killer? Other times though, she was angry. Surely there were good times intermingled with the bad. It couldn't have all been torture and serial killers. Or car bombs. Or violent crimes that ended in death.

That was probably what made her most frustrated. Maybe a little angry. All right. It made her very angry. She was missing the better half of sixteen years of her life. Sometimes she felt like she was still a young scared 22 year-old. She knew that the detectives surrounding her were disappointed sometimes. She knew that they expected her to be better than she was. She frowned. _Detective Rizzoli doesn't exist anymore. _All those years she had walked the beat, all those years that she had to train to be a detective: those days were gone. She could sense her intuition in the back of her mind. Sometimes the training would come out at the oddest moments.

_Like with Maura_. Jane knew that there was something about Maura. She could sense it. It was there in the back of her mind. She didn't know how she knew. She just knew it. But she couldn't prove it. Maura made no mention of Jane's past. Jane could tell that Maura was a master diverter. Every time a topic might come up, Maura would change the subject, or avoid the topic.

Jane stared blankly at the garage door to the storage unit, sweat making its way steadily down her body still. She had found the key, and a receipt in amongst her military items. Jane felt that this might be the key to her past. Standing here, she hesitated. Did she dare open Pandora's Box? Did she dare upset the universe? Her intuition was telling her that something rather significant lay behind this door. However, she was not sure if she wanted to see it. _Or_, Jane thought rolling her eyes_, it might just be a bunch of stupid crap that I didn't want or know what to do with_.

So here she stood, debating whether she wanted to open the box or not.

Fine.

Jane made an executive decision to do it. Taking the key, she jiggled the lock, and released it. Grunting, she squatted down, and yanked the handle on the bottom of the blue metal door. Yanking it up quickly, she closed her eyes for a second, and took a swift step back like it might come crashing back down on her. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she sighed, and looked back towards her car. _All right. Enough is enough_, Jane chastised herself. She peered into the cavern of the storage unit. Inside was a bunch of . . . boxes . . . and . . . some shitty furniture. It looked like a bunch of junk. Jane recognized an old couch in the corner. It looked more worn than she remembered. She saw a scratched side table with an ugly eighties-style lamp. Why the heck had she kept all this stuff? She was going to have to rent a U-Haul and take all this crap to the dumpster. She thought of the clean, new furniture in her apartment. The clothing that was shipped from the base. Nope. She didn't need this shit. _But,_ she thought,_ maybe there's something in here that will tell me something of my past_. Perhaps there was something in those boxes.

She pushed forward into the stuffy area, and glanced down at a closed box. Pulling a box cutter from her pants, she clicked it open and cut into the tape holding the flaps together. Inside was a bunch of trophies that she had won in sports in high school. Jane decided that was going into the trash. However, she promised herself that she would look through all the boxes on the off chance that there was something of importance. Moving forward, she randomly chose several boxes and kicked them forward. Walking back out to her car, she popped the trunk and tossed in the boxes. Slamming the trunk shut, she turned and pulled down the storage unit door. She decided that she would slowly weed through some of these boxes over some beer and pizza back at her apartment.

Jane drove carefully back to the apartment. Carrying the boxes one by one upstairs, she stacked them carefully to the side of her couch. Walking over to her fridge, she pulled out a beer, took the cap off, and tossed it in the general direction of the trashcan. Turning on the television for background noise, she proceeded to open another box.

* * *

_End of October, 2007, Kubul._

_23 October 2007_

_Dear Maura,_

_I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to get in touch with you. I agonized over what I would say to you. I considered calling, but thought that you might reject my call. I didn't know how you might react. Would you want to hang up on me? _

_Seeing you in August was the best thing that has happened in a long time to me. I miss our easy friendship, and the way you would laugh at all my jokes. I miss your google-mouth. We never got to talk about what happened that day. __I wish I could have__ I wish that we had time. I wish that I hadn't been such a coward, and I'd called you while I was on leave. Perhaps, we wouldn't have left things so open-ended. _

_I know that you've heard this, but I'm sorry again. I'm sorry for shooting your father. Because I did that, I lost the incredible friendship of the woman that I was lucky to have in my life. You mean a lot to me, and when I get back, I will do whatever I can to regain your trust. _

_Take care,_

_Jane_

Jane looks up from her writing table. It's been a couple of months since she's seen Maura. It seems like forever, but yet seems like no time has passed at all. It's easy out here in the desert. Each day melts into one. It's extremely repetitive. She remembers the kisses that she's shared with Maura, the way Maura stares at her after they've kissed. She remembers asking Maura if she wants her back. She remembers Maura's hesitation. She remembers stealing another kiss, and not looking back. She rips up the letter.

It was a stupid idea anyway.

Grabbing her M-16 and her helmet, she pushes aside the tent flaps and walks into the hot sun.

* * *

_Beginning of May 2012, Jane's Apartment, Late Afternoon_

Jane pushed open the flaps of the box labeled "2000-?" and looked inside. On top was a bunch of newspaper clippings. She reads the headlines. _Serial Killer Captures One of Boston's Finest_. _Serial Killer Captured_. Jane puts them aside. _Charles Hoyt_, she thinks. _I hate that fucking guy. Even though I can't remember him._ There were photographs. Jane slowly looked through them. There is a picture of her and her brother Frankie in their uniforms laughing. They have their arms around each other. Jane smiled. She looked so happy. Too bad she didn't remember. Next, she saw a picture of her mother, herself . . . and Maura.

Jane frowned. Why hadn't Maura mentioned that they had been friends _before_?

Her detective's brain kicked into overdrive. Suddenly Maura's hesitation to talk of anything in the past made sense. All the nervousness coming off Maura's face in waves. The backtracking in conversation. The hesitation in her Ma's eyes when Maura's name was mentioned.

_What. The. Fuck._

Maura had some 'splaining to do.

And her Ma.

And her whole fucking family for that matter.


End file.
